


Hold Me Fast

by sunsetmog



Series: Maybe This Time [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Play, Come play, Daddy Kink, Infantilism, M/M, Presents, Stuffed Toys, Thumb-sucking, bathtime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 08:07:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Can we--" Harry says, urgent and quiet. "Tonight, can we, you know--"</p><p>"You're asking me? For, like--" Louis doesn't finish the sentence. They're not at home, alone, so there's no way to say, <i>for you to be my daddy</i>. There just isn't. He shrugs his shoulder instead. He hopes it suffices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Me Fast

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you SO MUCH to **trinityclare** for betaing this tonight, and to **checkthemargins** for reading it as I was writing it. This is shameless, self-indulgent porn and hugs set in the _Maybe This Time_ verse. 
> 
> Any remaining mistakes are my own. ♥

Harry corners him by the vending machine towards the end of the afternoon. They're on their own for the first time all day, a moment of silence in amongst the non-stop meetings and joint decision making sessions. Days like this—management days—are few and far between, so they always pack as much into them as humanely possible. "Can we—" Harry says, urgent and quiet. "Tonight, can we, you know—"

Louis holds a fifty-pence piece half in and out of the vending machine money slot. There's dirt under his fingernail. He glances over at Zayn, on the phone by the window, and Niall, talking to one of their lawyers about Anchorman, arms wide, both of them laughing. Trust Niall to find middle ground. "You're asking me? For, like—" Louis doesn't finish the sentence. They're not at home, alone, so there's no way to say, _for you to be my daddy_. There just isn't. He shrugs his shoulder instead. He hopes it suffices.

Harry taps one foot on top of the other, tense and strained. His Chelsea boots are scuffed and ruined; he never polishes the fucking things. "Don't, all right? I know it's—I know it's your thing. But like, can we? Tonight? I just—today's been long. I just need to be, like, I don't know, okay? I just want look after _something_. Someone. You."

There are other things they could do that aren't pandering to Louis' weird predilections for soft toy dogs and sucking his thumb, but Louis barely understands the inside of his own head, let alone Harry's. "Yeah," he says, finally. The knees of his jeans are all saggy. He should probably chuck them, but they're comfortable, and anyway, it's a day full of meetings and lawyers and contracts and schedules and plans and decisions about tour t-shirts. He picked his saggy jeans out himself; he's keeping them. Sometimes it feels like they're trapped in a schedule that never fucking ends, trapped in someone else's pension scheme, the five of them front and centre. It never gets him like this except on days like today, days where it's all bureaucracy and no music, and no fucking fun. He's itching underneath his skin, too. It isn't just Harry. "Let's, um. Please."

Harry lets out a breath. He worries at his lip, biting it red and wet. He tugs at Louis' sleeve with his thumb and forefinger, almost childish. "How long have we got left?"

"One more meeting, I think. We haven't talked about merch yet, have we?" 

"Don't think so," Harry says. He looks about as exhausted as Louis feels, but then Harry was out last night with his friends. Louis had gone to Funky Buddha with Liam, but at least he'd been in bed by two. He rather suspects Harry was up later. He and his friends never seem to stop talking. "Then—"

Louis nods. He rocks back on his heels. There are tiny, invisible threads between the two of them, a cat's cradle of things they never say. They're caught together, the two of them. Sometimes Louis wants to test how far he can stretch out and still come back. Other times, like today, he wants to wind the threads tighter. Always tighter. "Then. Yeah."

 

On days like this the five of them are commodities. They're figures on a page. They're a sum, and an answer, and a calculator, all rolled into one. The hours roll into each other, one after the other, meeting after meeting after meeting. There's a collective sigh of relief when the door of the van closes behind them at the end of the day, and it's just the five of them again. 

"Well, that's that for another few months," Zayn says, taking the single seat. 

Niall flops down onto the two seater across from him, Liam clambering in next to Paul in the front seat. 

Louis and Harry take one corner of the back seat, Louis curling in like a little letter _c_ around him, cheek to Harry's shoulder, legs over Harry's lap. Harry wraps an arm around his waist, kissing the top of his head, and Louis presses a little closer, as little as he can get when they're not in one of their flats with the doors locked. It's so, so private this thing that they do, this world that they share. Louis trusts the people in this car with his fucking life, but he's still never telling them that sometimes—more often than he used to, and not as often as he'd like, secretly—he likes to pretend that he's a little boy, and that Harry's his daddy. It's the tiny part of his brain that's his, and Harry's. Theirs.

Harry's leg keeps jiggling up and down, and Louis presses closer, shifting so that he's pressing closer. He kisses Harry's jaw before pressing his mouth to the shell of Harry's ear, whispering, _Daddy_. It's barely a breath. It's the most he's ever said in front of anyone else, ever. 

He's terrified they've heard. 

Harry's hand tightens on Louis' knee. His leg stops jiggling, a little bit. He looks the other way, out of the window into the early evening dusk, but his cheeks are flushed pink. Louis knows that he heard. 

Louis ducks his head down. "Tired," he says softly, and Harry reaches for his hand, lacing his fingers with Louis'. He rubs his cheek against Harry's shoulder, squeezing his hand. He isn't down yet, and normally it's him that's begging for it, tense and desperate to just let go, but tonight it's Harry who needs it. He can feel it in the way Harry's holding himself, in the way his foot's still tapping, in the way he's holding on to Louis with stiff desperation. 

Louis lets out a long breath. He can feel things starting to shift gears inside his brain, though, the little mindset he keeps hidden away starting to peep out.

He really, really likes how that feels. He always has. It's like—settling down. Settling in. Letting go. This is the furthest he's ever let it go when he's been around other people. 

At least he can just pretend he's tired. 

"Cute," Niall says, leaning over the back of his seat. "Look at the two of you."

"Yeah, yeah," Harry says, but his hands tighten wherever they're touching Louis. This is more possessive than Harry normally is. There's no edge; but with Harry there never is. He's just—he's Louis', and Louis is Harry's, and right now everyone knows it. 

Normally Louis wants to fill a room, be everywhere and into everything, but right now he's happy where he is. Small against Harry's side. 

 

"You want dropping off at yours?" Paul asks, from the front seat. 

"Nah," Louis says. "Drop me at Harry's."

Harry kisses the top of his head. 

Louis can't tell if he imagines Harry whispering, _good boy_. 

 

After they've been dropped off at Harry's, Harry doesn't even wait for the front door to close behind him before he bundles Louis up into a hug. He buries his face in the curve of Louis' neck and stumbles them back into the wall. 

"God, Lou. Louis. I need you." 

"My daddy," Louis says softly, because Harry needs it, is begging for it, and Louis wants to give him something back for all the times Harry's indulged him. He winds his arms around Harry's neck, and Harry presses closer, breath hot against Louis' neck. "Daddy."

"I love you," Harry says, still not coming up for air. His mouth is pressed to Louis' skin, his words tickling. Louis can feel the frantic pounding of Harry's heart even as he's pushing Louis up against the wall. His voice shakes. "My little boy. I've wanted this all day. You've got no idea. Louis. My little, little boy."

Louis trembles. He really, really loves being called Harry's little boy. It makes him feel so small and looked after and cared for. He's not quite down yet, but it doesn't matter. It just feels so nice, and so... almost-peaceful. Louis isn't ever peaceful, not normally. He never wants it, except when he wants this. It's like all the noise in his head can just quieten down for a bit, and it's just him. Him and Harry. 

Harry doesn't let go for the longest time, and Louis closes his eyes after a while, and lets the day slide away a bit in Harry's arms. He feels littler like this, his daddy holding him. The lawyers and their management team seem a lot further away than they had a few minutes ago. Everything does. 

"Come on," Harry says after a while, voice slow again. "Upstairs. Let's go get rid of today." He tucks his hand into Louis', his hand dwarfing Louis'. It's just the way Louis likes it, and Harry leads him upstairs. Harry always does things so much slower when they play at this; the world slows down inside Louis' head, and Harry makes it slow down in real life too. He stops at the top, letting go of Louis' hand. He holds his arms out. "Up you get, baby. Let's go get you changed."

Louis really loves that Harry working out so much means he can carry Louis into his bedroom. He really, really loves it. He hops up and wraps his legs around Harry's waist, Harry's hands curving round his bum and squeezing. 

"You want a bath, first?" Harry asks, tilting his chin up so that he can kiss the underside of Louis' jaw. Louis shivers. It's like he's the centre of Harry's universe, and it makes him feel simultaneously like he's everything, and like he's very, very small, all at the same time. The day slips away from him, the last vestiges floating away like dust motes in the sunshine. It's just him and his daddy. "Before your jim-jams?"

It's too early for pyjamas, but Louis isn't going to argue. "Bath, Daddy." He tucks himself in so that he can rest his cheek on Harry's shoulder, and slide his thumb into his mouth. He's already at least half-hard, he knows that, but Harry pretends not to notice. He likes that he can be hard and yet not have that be the focus. He likes the way it makes him feel warm and special and sort of tiny and loved. He presses a little closer, his dick pressing up against Harry's stomach. 

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Harry tells him, carefully depositing Louis onto his bed. "Do you want Daddy to get in the bath with you? Wash you all over? All clean like a bee?"

Louis curls up on the pillows, thumb still in his mouth, and doesn't tell Harry that bees aren't known for being clean. He almost reaches for Patch as a matter of course, but Patch is back at his place, propped up in the centre of the pillows like he is every night. Patch is habit, now. Patch is there almost every night, whether they're playing at this or not. So is the thumb-sucking. Harry tells him it's okay, that it's not hurting anyone, that it makes Louis happy and that's all that's important, but Louis can feel himself going pink even just thinking about it. He sucks his thumb and tries not to notice the absence of something soft and fluffy caught in the curve of his elbow. 

Harry sits down on the edge of the bed, and strokes Louis' hair away from his forehead. "You're my good boy," he says, still stroking. "Aren't you, love? My good little boy. Daddy's best little boy."

Louis knows he's going pink now, but he doesn't care. He really doesn't care. He wants Harry to keep on petting him, stroking his hair away from his forehead, telling him he's good and his and little and special. 

"Got you something," Harry goes on, and he rummages down by the bedside table for a moment, before coming back up with a present wrapped up in pink teddy bear wrapping paper with a big pink bow tied messily in one corner. 

Louis takes it, sliding his thumb out of his mouth. "For me?" he asks. His heart's thumping.

"For you," Harry agrees. "Do you want some help opening it?"

Louis is all fingers and thumbs. He nods, and nudges the present a little towards Harry. There's a tight sort of oddness in his chest; is it tears? Something else? He leans in and rubs his cheek against Harry's shoulder, suddenly shy. "My daddy," he says, softly. 

Harry wraps an arm around his shoulder then, possessive. "I'm going to look after you so well," he says, kiss lost in Louis' messy hair. "I'm going to look after you all night. And in the morning, if you want. However long you want. I promise."

Louis can't burrow closer, even though he wants to. The traces of today are still there, in his clothes and his hair and Harry's jewellery and the furrow in his brow. Louis presses clumsy, open mouthed kisses to Harry's cheek, and his jaw, and the corner of his mouth. Harry smiles into them, fingers curled into Louis', and Louis feels wanted, and cared for, and loved. 

"Come on," Harry says. "Let's get this wrapping paper off and then I'll go and run us a bath. Get you all nice and clean for your jammies."

"Messy," Louis says, and he tries to hide his face in Harry's shirt. "Like being messy."

"I know you do, little one. And we can get you all messy again later, and then Daddy will clean you up, spit-spot."

Louis nods, still hiding his face. He likes so much dirty stuff. He doesn't know where normal ends and he begins, except that Harry never once makes him feel like he's wrong. Not for one second, not ever. He tucks a finger into the corner of the wrapping paper, and Harry helps him with the ribbon. 

Inside the wrapping paper and ribbon is a grey soft toy mouse, with pink hearts on her ears and her paws, a soft black nose, and a little squishy tummy. She's a bit bigger than Patch, but she's just as soft, and just as furry, and just as much his as Patch is. He doesn't quite understand why he's quite so close to tears as he is right now, why his breath is hitching in his throat, why he feels wobbly, and on edge. 

"I thought we could have Patch at yours, and this little guy at mine," Harry says, looking worried when Louis starts to blink away tears. "Don't you like her?"

"I love her," Louis says, looking down at her, her little squishy tummy all sticky-out as she sits in his lap. He didn't know he wanted more than Patch until she arrived, all soft and his and with little pink hearts on her paws. He rubs the pads of his thumbs over her ears. 

"Okay," Harry says. "Um. I got you—there's something else as well. And if you don't like it, I can take it back, I promise. It's not, like—" He stops, and takes a ragged breath. "I didn't wrap it, in case you didn't want it."

Louis wraps his fingertips round his mouse's paw, like he's holding her hand, and watches as Harry roots around under the bed, and comes back up with a Mothercare bag in his hand, all scrumpled up. Harry unfolds it a little shakily, and reaches inside. He comes back out with a little brown-furred teddy bear, its front paws joined together to hold the corner of a little cream blankie, a heart embroidered on one furry corner. 

"I know it's for babies," Harry says, "but it's so soft. It's so soft, Lou. Do you want to touch? I just—I know how much you like it when things feel nice, and I saw it and I know it's a blankie, but—"

Louis doesn't know why he's crying, why it feels like there's something falling apart inside his chest, why he's having to wipe his eyes on the back of his hands, and why he's trying to hold his mouse and his blankie bear and Harry all at the same time. He's shuddering, crying into the collar of Harry's shirt, and Harry's hugging him, holding on to him and not letting him go. 

"Hey," Harry says, after a bit, his hands stroking circles into Louis' back. "Hey, sweetheart, baby. It's fine, you don't have to cry, I can take him back, no problem. No problem at all."

"No," Louis says, sharply, or as sharply as he can through his tears. "No, Daddy, no. They're mine. Mine, Harry."

"Okay," Harry says, softly, and he doesn't let up stroking circles into the small of Louis' back. "They're yours. But if you want them, why the tears?"

"Don't know," Louis says, and it's true; he doesn't know. He tries to climb into Harry's lap, to press closer, to make the dam that's burst in his chest somewhat easier to bear. "It's just—" he hides his face in Harry's neck. "Didn't know I wanted them so much. Didn't know, before."

"All right," Harry says, and he doesn't let go. He just keeps on holding on, hands to Louis' back, kissing his temple and his hair and the top of Louis' mouse's head. And Louis holds right on back, because Harry is everything and more, and Louis has no idea how to tell him _thank you_ and _I love you_ and _it's perfect and I never even knew it_. 

"Daddy," he says instead. It sounds sort of wretched. 

"Hey, no," Harry says. "It's okay. You're okay, baby. You've got your new toys, and you've got your daddy, and I'm not going anywhere. It's okay." Louis must not look appeased, because Harry strokes the hair away from his forehead and kisses the end of his nose. "Do I need to tell you that I love you _beary_ much? Would that help?"

Louis tries to show his displeasure at that terrible line, but Harry holds a finger up. 

" _Bear_ with me," he says. "I'm being _pawthetic_. Don't worry, I can't think of any more."

"Daddy," Louis says. "You're the worst."

Harry just smiles at him, eyes a little wet, and kisses his cheek. " _Beary_ much," he says again. "Don't forget."

"I won't," Louis says. He couldn't, not even if he tried. "Thank you."

Harry ruffles his hair. "Play with your toys whilst I run us a bath," he says. "Be good when I'm gone."

Louis makes a disgruntled kind of a noise at that. Like he's anything other than perfect. 

He has toys, now. Toys, _plural_. He feels like the luckiest little boy in the world. 

 

Harry climbs in behind Louis in the bath, his legs bracketing Louis on both sides. Louis leans back against his chest, and closes his eyes. He lets Harry wrap his arms around him, thumb stroking at Louis' tummy under all the bubbles and the bath bomb and Harry's obsession with bath products, and putting them all in the bath at the same time. The bathroom mirror is all steamed up and it all smells so good, and everything relaxes out of Louis in one long exhale of breath. 

He's still half-hard, has been this whole time, but Harry makes no move to touch him. Instead, he kisses Louis' ear, and says, "Would you like it if I read you a story after this? When you're all ready for bed?"

Louis shifts a little so that he can rub his cheek against Harry's chest. Harry's bath is really big, big enough for them both and all the bubbles and a handful of rubber ducks that weren't here last time they did this. "What kind of story?"

"The good kind," Harry says. "I got a few. You can pick the one you want first."

A few weeks ago, Harry had gone up to see his mum and Robin for the weekend, and he'd come back with a pile of his books from when he was little. Louis had come over to find Harry stacking them up on the shelf in his living room, a Rupert annual pressed up between a couple of Mog books, and a couple of Alfie books, and the Gruffalo, and Topsy and Tim, and The Jolly Postman. Louis couldn't understand why Harry wasn't hiding them away, out of view, away from where anyone who came over could see them. Louis had spent so long hiding anything away that might even be conceivably a link between Louis and his weird, fucked-up brain that it never even crossed his mind that things like this, links to childhood, could just be, well, _there_. 

"The ones downstairs?" Louis asks. He worries at Harry's nipple with the pad of his first finger. 

"If you'd like," Harry says. "But I bought some just for you, too."

"For me?"

"Yeah," Harry says. "We can put your name in them, if you'd like. And keep them somewhere safe."

"My name?" 

"L-O-U-I-S," Harry says. "My good little boy."

Louis rocks his hips up at that. The tip of his dick peeks through the bubbles, and Louis goes red, trying to curl up even smaller in-between Harry's legs. "Naughty," he says. "I don't know why it gets me so—"

"Hush," Harry says, pressing his finger to Louis' lips. "You don't have to think about any of that. You don't need to think about anything, because I'm going to look after everything. I'm going to look after you, baby." There's a fierce kind of dedication written all over his face that Louis can't think clearly enough to parse. Another time. "Later on I'm going to make you so messy, Lou. Just the way you like it. You'll look lovely. Such a pretty boy. Such a messy, pretty boy, Louis. Daddy's best little boy."

Louis squeezes his eyes shut at that, trying to keep still and not wriggle. He feels naughty and bad for wanting all of this so much, even though Harry is still stroking his tummy and isn't pushing him away or telling him he's misbehaving. It doesn't make him stop thinking he's wrong inside, though, even as Harry's kissing his cheek, and playing with his nipples and telling him he loves him. 

Louis rocks his hips up again, over and over, even as Harry washes his hair and his face. He tries to stay still as Harry washes the day away with a Power Rangers flannel Harry had got from eBay for him. But Harry touches him so slowly, and so gently, and so kindly, that Louis is whimpering by the end of it, skin flushed pink from more than just the heat of the bathwater. 

"I love you," Harry tells him, and he kisses Louis then, licking his way into Louis' mouth so that Louis whines into his kiss, trying to press ever closer. 

"Love you too, Daddy," Louis whispers, embarrassed, and he sits in the remains of the bubbles, rubber duck in one hand, his dick all hard, and waits for Harry to climb out of the bath and go and get the biggest towel he owns to wrap Louis up in. 

When he climbs out, Harry towels him dry everywhere, including in between his fingers and down to his toes. He even dries Louis' dick, but he doesn't linger there, even though Louis is leaking at the tip and he's blushed so red he doesn't know what to do with himself. He's so ashamed, but Harry just bundles him up into a hug. 

"That's my good little boy," Harry says, and he's hugging Louis really hard today, like he's worried he might turn round and Louis will be gone, which is ridiculous since Louis is the lucky one, he's the one that's managed to find the one person in the world who doesn't think he's crazy for finding all of this so hot and perfect. Louis is the one who needs it so badly that half the time he can't think of anything else at all. "Pyjama time, baby. Do you want Daddy to carry you through to the bedroom?"

It's only next door, but Louis nods, still unable to meet Harry's eyes. His dick is still so hard, and it doesn't make it better when Harry scoops him up, bridal-style, and carries him through to the bedroom. Harry's always so careful with him, so gentle. It makes Louis' heart hurt. 

Harry's laid out Louis' pyjamas on the bed. They must be new, because Louis' usual pyjamas for when he's little are from the girls' section, and they're white with big pale blue spots on, and a matching blue dog on the middle of his chest. This is a onesie, with feet, and it's grey with pink cuffs and pink buttons and little pink feet. It's like Louis' new toy mouse. 

"Let's get you dressed, little man," Harry tells him, crawling over him and pressing kisses to Louis' cheeks. When he reaches for the pyjamas, Louis grabs his mouse and his blankie and hides his face in his mouse's soft fur. He knows he shouldn't be this hard all the time. It feels so naughty, but he can't help it. 

"Naughty," he says softly, from behind his blankie. 

"Not naughty, baby," Harry says, and he ducks down to kiss the tip of Louis' dick. "You're such a good little boy, Louis. I'm going to tell you how good you are all the time, okay? You're so good for Daddy. You're always so good."

It's a lie, but Louis desperately, desperately wants to believe it. All he's ever wanted is to be a good boy. He only ever manages to come close. 

He stays hidden behind his soft, fluffy mouse as Harry gets him dressed. It makes Louis feel like an even littler boy than normal. He feels almost like a baby, Harry carefully sliding Louis' feet into his onesie. It doesn't help that they're obviously made for someone who is taller than Louis, and that Louis is too short and they're too big for him. It just makes him feel littler, and normally _baby_ is too little for him, too far down, but right now, the look on Harry's face makes slipping further down all worthwhile.

"Daddy," he says. "My daddy. My daddy."

"That's right," Harry says, pulling up Louis' onesie, and helping Louis to sit up so that he can slide the soft cotton over Louis' arms. "I'm your daddy, and you're my good, good little baby boy, aren't you? And Daddy's going to look after you so well, baby."

Louis knows. He really knows. 

 

Harry reads him _The Dinosaur That Pooped Christmas_ , the two of them curled up in Harry's big new chair downstairs. Louis had thought it ridiculous when Harry first showed it off to him, a huge black monstrosity of a chair that spun in circles and rocked backwards and forwards and claimed to be an armchair after all of that. It had wingtips. 

Louis gets it now, curled up in Harry's lap, his feet over one arm of the chair, his cheek pressed to Harry's shoulder. He has his mouse and his blankie bear and his thumb in his mouth, and Harry holds him close and kisses his hair as he turns the pages. 

It feels like it's just him and Harry in the universe tonight, Louis and his daddy, warm and cosy and safe. Harry follows up _The Dinosaur That Pooped Christmas_ with _Mog and Bunny_ and one about a boy who found a penguin and tried to take him home. And afterwards, Harry carries Louis all the way upstairs without even breaking a sweat, and Louis is quiet and little, even as Harry leans in to kiss his cheek and get him all settled in the bed. 

"You've been such a good boy for Daddy," Harry tells him, plumping up the pillows. He keeps kissing him, his forehead and the end of his nose and the corner of his mouth, round Louis' thumb. "Haven't you, love? A good boy, just like always."

Not like always. Louis is a bad little boy. His dick tents out his pyjamas, a little wet spot where he's leaked and leaked. "Bad little boy," he says, round his thumb. He pulls on his pyjamas, trying to cover up the wet spot, but Harry won't let him. 

"No, love," Harry says. "You're so good. Do you want me to make you all messy?"

Louis might get even harder at that. He cants his hips up, wanting _something_. He sucks his thumb and hugs his mouse closer, and can feel himself flushing an even darker red as Harry strokes over his hip, closer and closer to where Louis' all hard and naughty. 

"Use your words, baby," Harry says, thumbs to his hips. 

"Daddy," Louis says, which probably isn't enough. "Please."

Harry starts to undo the buttons of Louis' onesie, just the ones around Louis' dick, and then the tip just peeks through, and Harry curls his fingers around him. 

Louis whimpers, and slides his thumb back into his mouth. _Daddy_. 

"Is that nice, baby? Does that feel nice?"

Louis feels like words are too hard right now. He nods, slowly. He's really hard, and Daddy's making him feel so lovely and warm and little and loved. He's hugging his new mouse to his cheek, thumb in his mouth.

Daddy keeps on playing with Louis' dick, touching him so slowly. It's so nice and hazy.

"You can make a mess if you like, baby boy," Daddy goes on. "You can make a mess all over yourself, and still be Daddy's good little boy. Daddy will make sure you're all cleaned up afterwards. It's not naughty."

He comes between one breath and the next, quiet, pulsing all over his tummy and Harry's hand. 

"Good boy," Harry says, still touching Louis' dick, even as he's leaning in to press kisses to Louis' hot, flushed cheek. "That's my good, messy little boy."

He keeps on touching him, like he can't stop, smearing Louis' come over Louis' tummy, making him even more of a mess. Louis curls into him, trembling, and Harry undoes the rest of the buttons of Louis' pyjamas, shifting so that Louis' in his lap, and Harry's got one arm around Louis' waist, keeping him close. It's so— _safe_. This is the feeling that Louis craves, that he needs more than anything, protection and need and security. He curls into Harry, his mouse in his hand, breathing soft and rushed against Harry's throat as Harry rubs his thumbs over his nipples. Harry's dick is pressed up against Louis' bum, and every time he squirms back, Harry's breath catches, and Louis can tell, even when he's as far down as he is, that Harry's desperately trying to keep still. Harry's dick is so, so hard. 

Harry brings his hand up to cup Louis' cheek, tilting his chin up. He's pink-cheeked. Louis loves him so much. His daddy. "Going to look after you so well," he tells Louis, like Louis doesn't know. Like Louis isn't the one he's telling. "I look after you, don't I? Don't I, baby?"

Louis nods. He searches Harry's face, but there's nothing there that Louis can parse. This need, this desperation. "Daddy," he says, and then he waits, heart beating fast, and Harry leans in, big hand still splayed across Louis' cheek, and presses his mouth to Louis'. Louis kisses him back, perhaps a little clumsier than normal, a little slower. He fists his hand in Harry's t-shirt, his mouse squashed up between the two of them. Harry licks his way into Louis' mouth, soft and gentle, and Louis whimpers into their kiss, unable to help himself. 

"Good little boy," Harry tells him, pulling back just enough that he can kiss the tip of Louis' nose before ducking back in, his mouth brushing Louis'. "Aren't you my good little boy?"

Louis' dick is getting hard again; he tilts his hips up a little, and Harry smiles against his mouth, his other hand sliding down to curl around Louis' dick again. 

"That's right, baby," he says, kissing Louis' cheek. "You're so good. Getting hard for Daddy."

"It's nice," Louis says, shifting a bit so that he can feel Harry's dick pressed up against his bum. "So nice, Daddy." He wriggles, even though he's sure that's more than a little bit naughty. He can never be one hundred per cent good. There's always a little bit of him that's bad. He feels himself blushing, but it doesn't stop him pressing back. His opens his legs a little bit wider, and Harry's eyebrows go up. 

"Do you like that?" Harry asks him, stroking the back of his hand down Louis' chest to his messy tummy. "Knowing how hard you make me?"

Louis can't look at him. "Yes." He bites his lip. "Is it naughty?"

Harry's playing with his nipple again, pinched gently between his finger and his thumb. "No, Lou." He kisses his cheek. "You can touch it if you want. Touch Daddy."

Louis hides his face in his soft toy mouse. He's burning red, and he's so hard. 

"Louis," Harry says softly. "Whatever you want. It's fine. Just want to make you happy."

Louis inexplicably wants to cry. "Can I?" he asks, still not coming out from behind his mouse. 

"Course you can, little one," Harry says, stroking Louis' hair away from his forehead. "You can do whatever you want. Daddy's got you. Daddy's going to look after you."

Louis hides his face in Harry's chest. "Will you make me all messy?" he asks. He's flaming hot, his cheeks burning. 

"You're already a mess, Louis. You're such a messy little boy. You're so pretty like this. You want Daddy to make you even messier?"

Louis nods, still not looking up. He rubs his nose over Harry's chest, and Harry strokes at his cheek with the pad of his thumb. 

"All right, baby," Harry says, and he rearranges them both so that Louis' curled up on the pillows, and Harry's lost his tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt. His dick is fat and hard and so, so red. The foreskin is all pushed back and Louis shifts a little, leaning in to clumsily stroke the tip of his finger over the slick slit. He holds his finger out, and Harry ducks in to kiss his forehead. "You can taste it if you want, baby."

Louis can only imagine how red he is right now. He slides his finger into his mouth, licking off the taste of Harry. Harry strokes his dick through the drying mess on Louis' tummy. Louis' dick is getting all hard again, and Louis feels so very naughty indeed. 

He feels even naughtier when he nervously slides his hand around Harry's hard length, chewing at his lip as he looks up at Harry for confirmation he's allowed. 

Harry's cheeks are flushed too, his bottom lip bitten red and wet. His eyes are dark and he hisses in a breath as Louis moves his hand a little. 

"Daddy?" 

"You're being so good, baby," Harry tells him. "Such a good little boy for Daddy. That's right, you're doing just the right thing. So good, Lou. You're being so good."

Louis moves his hand hesitantly, wanting to be good. Harry's breath is coming in little hitches already, and he keeps kissing Louis' temples and his hair and his cheek, all the time telling Louis how good a little boy he is. 

When Harry comes, he comes all over Louis' hand, and his tummy, and Louis' dick. Harry cradles him close, stroking his hand through the mess all over Louis' tummy. Louis sucks his thumb and lets himself be held, even when Harry slowly buttons up Louis' pyjamas without cleaning him up. 

"Daddy's messy little boy," Harry tells him, patting him gently on the tummy. 

Louis rocks his hips up, his dick tenting out his messy pyjamas. 

Harry smiles down at him, stroking his fingers down until they're touching Louis' erection through his pyjamas. "Still excited, little one?"

Louis sucks his thumb, nodding even as Harry continues to touch him through his clothes, fingers shaping out his dick through the material. 

"Do you want to come in your pyjamas, Lou? Make more of a mess all over them?"

Louis hides his face in Harry's side. 

"Use your words, baby."

"Yes, please, Daddy."

He's close already, so small and loved and special and quiet. He rocks up against Harry's hand, Harry murmuring _good boy_ at him as he whimpers round his thumb, so close. He comes breathlessly, Harry still touching him, stroking over the wet spot until Louis is trembling with it, clumsily begging Harry not to stop, even as tears sneak out, over-sensitive and desperate. 

Harry pulls the covers up then, his arms wrapped around Louis, tight enough that Louis feels safer than safe. 

"Love you," he says, words muffled against Harry's skin. "Daddy, my daddy."

"Daddy's good, messy little boy," Harry says, and kisses the top of his head. "My best boy."

Louis nuzzles closer, sleepy and messy and loved. He's almost asleep when Harry whispers, _love you more,_ into his hair. 

Louis trembles, and falls asleep. 

 

In the morning, he's uncomfortably sticky, desperate for the loo, and out of his little mindset. He nips to the loo, makes two cups of tea, and brings them back to bed with four slices of buttered toast. He wakes Harry up with a kiss to his shoulder, and they sleepily eat breakfast in bed with the TV on the background. 

"You haven't got changed," Harry says, after they've finished. He presses his fingertips into Louis' hip. 

Louis shifts so that he's resting his cheek against Harry's shoulder. He hooks his foot over Harry's leg. His pyjamas are kind of sticking to him and a bit revolting, but he quite likes it nevertheless. "Nope," he says, wrapping his arm around Harry's chest. "So, um. Did last night work? Did it make you feel better?"

Harry laughs at that. "God," he says. "Did last night work? Yeah. I'd say it did. Do you have any idea how hot it is when you're acting down?"

Louis snorts, embarrassed. "Nothing says sexy like a guy who likes pretending he's a little boy."

"Yeah," Harry says, but he doesn't laugh. He cups Louis' face in his hand instead. "You're so fucking beautiful, Lou. I love what we do. I loved last night."

Louis makes a face. He still can't quite believe that, no matter how much Harry's told him. "Shut up," he says, pushing Harry's hand away. 

"No, really," Harry says. "And I know you probably don't, but we've got the whole weekend free, so just on the off chance, if you wanted to, like, do it again, I'm not going to say no. All right?"

"Christ," Louis says. Sometimes the tiny threads of this cat's cradle that's tying the two of them together feel like they're tangled extra tight. It doesn't make him feel anything other than safe. "I didn't think you were into this as much as I was."

"Idiot," Harry says, affectionately. He kisses the top of Louis' head. "So? You up for it?"

Louis burrows a little closer, tilting his chin up so he can kiss Harry's jaw. "Daddy," he says, softly. 

"There we go," Harry says, and smiles. 

[END]

**Author's Note:**

> In answer to the question, "Do you know what Louis names his mouse?", there is a tiny ficlet timestamp at my tumblr, [here](http://magicalrocketships.tumblr.com/post/76421376547/do-you-know-what-louis-names-his-mouse).


End file.
